


Fallout Boy

by Zeddembi



Series: Radioactive Material [1]
Category: Bandom, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), Fall Out Boy, Fallout (Video Games), My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, The Youngblood Chronicles (Music Video), Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Angst, Blood, Gore, Gratuitous Violence, I'll add other bands eventually, Not Beta Read, Original Character(s), PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Road Trip!, Titles based on songs, a serious lack of shipping, but hints at ships, cuz I'm not gonna censor anything, hand loss, i mean holy cow, i should probably warn you again about the violence, just for you, just for you my dear, subject to editing, this is gonna be fun, this is ten year old me's wet dream
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 10:29:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11598759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeddembi/pseuds/Zeddembi
Summary: Wasteland adventuring feat. your (fall out) boys! I'm hoping to write this in a way that will be enjoyable to someone who hasn't played any of the Fallout games or listened to any music ever, so if you have, prepare for some unnecessary explanations and if you haven't...I'm not really sure how you got here, but welcome to radioactive bandom and just sit back and enjoy, I guess.





	1. Thnks Fr Th Mnnks

**Author's Note:**

> The story begins in 2313, a while after the games (for all you future peeps, I wrote this like a year after Fallout 4 or something) by which time I think civilisations should be rebuilding and the world would be moving forward from the Great War.

Hot wind stole away any relief the cool shade of the sky road might’ve given on a stiller day. As Pete gazed down the scope of his rifle he wondered if the weather had always sucked this bad, or if two hundred years ago it had been more pleasant. Joe might know. Joe knew a lot about the time before the bombs fell.

“Watcha got?’

Speaking of Joe…

“Two storey concrete structure,” Pete replied, “Four guys on the ground, patrolling each of the building’s sides; two spotlights on what are probably the front and back doors with turrets on the roof; more raiders inside, but I cant tell how many.”

“ We can handle that easy if you take out the ones on the outside while Joe and I run in guns blazing,” Andy suggested. Pete liked that idea. He didn’t enjoy gunfights, he liked picking off targets from a distance. It was far less messy and meant he could stay out of danger.

“I wouldn’t risk it. They’ll most likely figure out we’re here for the prisoners and start killing them off before we can reach ‘em. It looks like they’re already on high alert.” Joe had a point. There were other lives at stake.

Pete sighed. Since reuniting with his old friends, things had been difficult. He couldn’t just lay back and let others handle the rough situations. It used to be so easy to sit on a distant roof, watching others die through a scope. People he barely knew, other mercenaries who’d requested his help for a particularly difficult job.

But Andy and Joe weren’t just hired guns. They mattered to Pete. He couldn’t bear the guilt he felt, watching from a distance as they risked their lives, so he’d been taking risks he rarely used to take. Sniping from distances more than half of what he liked, catching up to them before they went in to clear a building of bloat flies, even putting knives into the throats of sleeping raiders. It was uncomfortable to say the least, but not nearly as uncomfortable as the thought of one of them getting hurt and knowing he’d sat back and let it happen.

“They need the prisoners alive. You can’t sell dead slaves,” Andy argued.

“They’ll gank the weaker people one by one ‘til we back off.”

“Then it’s a stealth op,” Pete cut in, “It’s open land all around the building, so we wouldn’t have a chance at a surprise attack while the sun’s up. We’ll wait ‘til nightfall to go over there, then use silenced weapons and knives to take them out. The prisoners are probably being kept on the first floor or in a basement.” Pete looked back at Joe and Andy from where he lay with his rifle. “If we’re quiet, nobody upstairs will even have to know we were there.”

Joe and Andy sat behind one of the columns holding up the sky road, shielded from the view of the raiders’ den. They nodded in agreement. 

Joe checked the Pip-Boy on his arm.

We have about four hours until dark,” he said, “I’m gonna rest up. It’s been a long day.”

“Me too,” Andy agreed.

Pete turned back to his scope. He wanted to keep an eye on the guards, see how often they switched out with new guys, possibly getting a better idea of how many they were up against.

People who knew Pete often asked how he had the patience to be a decent sniper when he could barely wait half a minute for a trader to count out the caps to buy spare ammo from him. He didn’t know how to answer them. Maybe it was the calm of not needing to rush. On most sniping jobs he literally had all day to wait for the right target to walk under his crosshairs. Maybe he liked watching distant chaos through the scope, almost a world away.

Whatever it was, it kept him on his stomach as the guards patrolled, the sun went down and the sky grew dark.

“Time to roll.”

The three got up, checking weapons and stretching out. Pete was stiff, but the walk to their destination would wear that off.

The stretch of land between them and the building was flat, but dotted with trees and boulders they could move between to keep their cover. Pete and Joe weren’t very big, so this worked well for them, but Andy was a different story. He was much bigger than both of them and always  
had some difficulty sneaking around.

Luckily, a dense cloud cover kept the landscape dark enough that he didn’t have to worry too much about being seen.

When they drew close, Andy crouched behind a boulder while Pete and Joe took out the nearest guard.

The side of the building facing the sky road didn’t have a spotlight, so they were able to attack from the most familiar part of the building.

When the raider patrolling it turned away, Pete saw his opportunity to quietly run up behind her and make the first kill. Holding a hand over her mouth, Pete slashed the raider’s throat. When she stopped struggling, he lowered the body to the ground quietly as Joe beckoned for Andy to come forward.

Together, they silently ran to the end of the wall, where a spotlight’s beam was retreating. Joe peaked around the corner when the light had fully disappeared. He ducked back quickly.

“Andy.” His voice barely came out as a breath as he indicated that there was one guard. Joe picked a large rock from the ground and mimed hitting himself over the head with it. Andy nodded, taking the rock.

Joe pulled his sunglasses from a pocket and held them out, using them to watch the guard’s reflection.

The trio waited, barely breathing as the guard drew closer.

“Now.” 

Joe stepped out behind the guard, who had already turned to walk away, and aimed high at the turret on the roof. As a silenced shot disabled the machine, Andy’s rock crushed the surprised guard’s skull. Another shot took out the spotlight and they were once again plunged into darkness.

Pressed back up against the wall, Pete listened intently. Music and laughter drifted from the building. It looked like nobody had been alerted.  
Pete inched over to the door and tried the handle. It wasn’t locked. The door creaked open and he peered into the dimly lit building.

A hallway. The staticky sound of radio music could be heard emanating from one of the five doors along it. He turned back to his friends. A series of hand gestures told them the plan.

Joe would take the first door on the left, Andy the second, Pete would take the first on the right. If one of them found the prisoners, he’d quietly alert the other two.

Joe went in, Pete and Andy following close behind. Pete reached the door to his room.

He put his ear to it, hearing the radio play inside, but nothing else. He readied his knife. He twisted the handle and opened the door slowly. He slipped inside, not quite closing it behind him. He felt his whole body go numb.

“’Trick,” he breathed.


	2. Get Busy Living Or Get Busy Dying (Do Your Part To Save The Scene And Stop Reading Fics)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up with titles is actually way harder than I initially thought, like I've made up a bunch of really good ones bet there are specific chapters I want to use them in.

There was only one other person in the room. He sat unmoving in the chair he was tied to. Next to him was a small table covered in surgical instruments and bloodied bandages. One such bandage bound up his left wrist, where his hand was missing. The man’s head rested against the back of the chair, which was tilted back so he couldn’t slump forward and suffocate.

It had been years since Pete had seen him and he’d changed, but there was no mistaking him. 

Pete’s mind began to clear from the initial shock and he took in what he was seeing. His best friend, Patrick. Covered head to toe in blood and grime. Missing a hand. Tied to a chair. Not moving.

Looking around the room, the last of the shock was replaced by rage. Against the wall to his right was another table where the radio sat. A Pip-Boy, most likely the one that had once been on Patrick’s left wrist, sat next to the radio and a small pile of bloodied fingers.

A weapon also lay on the table. A deathclaw gauntlet. Large curving claws enticed Pete to step forward. He lifted it from the table and fitted it over his left arm, leaving his right to wield his combat knife.

Seeing red, he turned back to the door and slammed it open. He stepped out, ignoring the surprised look he got from Joe, who had just emerge from the room he’d cleared. Pete walked up the stairs to the next floor, hear the blood rushing in his ears, feeling adrenaline and white-hot rage coursing through it.

*

Joe stepped out from his room. Some prisoners had been there and he’d untied one, quietly instructing her to help him with the other two. They filled him in on who’d attacked the caravan.

“At least twenty raiders,”

“They took out one of our mercenaries from behind, then jumped the rest of us,”

“We didn’t stand a chance.”

Joe went to tell Andy and Pete what they’d told him but froze in the hallway when Pete’s door crashed open, allowing the radio’s music to more  
loudly echo through the building. His knife was in his hand, but it was Pete who walked out.

Joe looked at him, shocked. This was a stealth mission. Why did he have a deathclaw gauntlet? What was he doing?

“Pete,” he hissed, but Pete didn’t seem to hear him. He turned away from Joe and headed up the stairs to the second floor. 

Just then, Andy emerged from his room and looked over at Joe, not noticing Pete. He indicated that he’d found four prisoners, one injured, before Joe came to his senses. He pointed to Pete, and Andy turned just in time to see him disappear up the stairs. Joe quietly moved over to Andy, glancing into the room Pete had just left. He froze, a hand on Andy’s arm. Joe turned back the the room.

“Is that…?” Joe barely hear Andy. He stumbled into the room, Andy just behind him.

Joe fell to his knees when he reached Patrick, his friend and fellow Vault dweller.

A gunshot brought him back to his senses. 

“Help Pete,” he commanded Andy.

Andy left without another word, closing the door behind him, and Joe turned back to Patrick. He quickly cut away the restraints before lifting him from the chair and laying him on the floor.

More gunshots cracked above him, but he ignored them.

Joe put his cheek to Patrick’s nose, feeling for a breath, at the same time checking his pulse.

He exhaled in relief. His friend was barely breathing but he was alive.

Joe jumped to his feet and in a moment was at the table. He gathered up every bandage and medical instrument there. It seemed a sadist normally occupied this room; there were all kinds of bloodied tools lying on the table.

He kneeled at Patrick’s side again. Joe focused first on the torso, where the more problematic damage would be. He cut open Patrick’s shirt and was greeted by a badly dressed wound on his stomach. A dirty rag duct taped in place sealed it. Joe ripped the tape off, making Patrick’s remaining hand twitch. That was a good sign.

“You probably can’t hear me, but it’s Joe,” he said quietly over the sound of the radio, “You’ve been captured by raiders and, to be honest, you’re not looking good.” Joe inspected to wound the makeshift bandage had covered. “Looks like you got shot. Sucks. I’d stimpak the hell outta you, but at this point I’m not sure if you can take it.”

Using one of the tools to open the wound a little, he saw that the bullet was still there. A non-piercing round, probably meant to incapacitate rather than kill. It made sense for slave traders to use such ammo.

“Okay, the bullet’s still there. It looks like it’s keeping you from bleeding out, so I’ll leave it for now.”

The agitation had caused some blood to seep out, so Joe quickly got some cleaner bandages and redresses the wound. He didn’t have any medical tape (who in the wasteland did?) so he used the duct tape he found on the table.

“Moving on, it looks like the rest of your torso’s fine. Time to check your limbs.”

Joe went straight for his left wrist. A tourniquet prevented too much blood loss from Patrick’s stump.

“At least the raiders got that right.”

He redressed it and moved on, not wanting to think too much about it. He noticed a slight bend in Patrick’s right leg.

“Aw man, your leg’s all messed up.”

Joe looked around the room. There was nothing to use as a splint, so he broke the chair for one of its legs.

He cringed at the noise, only then realizing that the sounds of combat had stopped. He briefly wondered who’d won before moving back to his friend’s leg.

He was careful when he splinted it, but some pain-induced noises still escaped Patrick. They turned into a kind of mumbling and Joe realized Patrick was almost conscious. 

“’Trick. Can you hear me? It’s me, Joe. Pete and Andy are around too, we’re gonna get you outta here.”

Joe jumped when the door suddenly crashed open, gun already in hand when he realized it was a bloodstained Pete. He lowered the weapon.

“He’s alive, but barely. I’ve taken care of his wounds for now, but he’ll need better attention soon.”

Pete fell to Joe’s side, taking what was left of Patrick’s arm in his hand.

“You’re gonna be alright, you hear me? You’re gonna be fine,” Pete growled to him.

Patrick moaned in pain.

“Put his arm down,” Joe commanded. Andy, who had just entered the room, nudged Pete to get up. Pete reluctantly obeyed them and stood back.

Joe felt Patrick’s arm, causing him to cry out. He jumped when he heard Pete smash the radio into silence.

“Broken. I didn’t realize when I examined it earlier. This should be splinted, but I don’t have-” Joe noticed the bloodied deathclaw gauntlet Pete had used to destroy the radio. “Give me that.”

Pete handed it to him and he fitted it over the broken arm, Pete sweeping what was left on the table onto the floor at the sound of Patrick’s pained cries. Joe knew Pete hated to see his friends in pain, especially Patrick. 

“Done. He can be moved now.” Joe turned to Pete. “And you can tell me exactly what you were thinking. This was supposed to be a stealth op!”


	3. Demimutants

It had been weird when the trio first arrived at the settlement. It always was. Mistrustful glares from everyone the passed, parents rushing children inside. It was nothing Andy wasn’t used to, but it still made him self-conscious. His green skin made people feel threatened by him and that sucked.

He was much smaller than other super mutants, but to humans he was still a monster. He’d been lucky to even be allowed in the settlement, but that was only after Pete assured the guards that he was “tame” and “they had him under control.”

No such words were needed, however, when Andy and his friends returned from their mission early the next morning.

Loved ones greeted the prisoners they’d rescued and embraces were exchanged, Teary thank-yous rang out making Andy smile. He frowned when he looked back down at his quarry.

Patrick was short, but his laughter and sunny disposition could fill any room. All of that was absent, though. Andy thought Patrick had never seemed smaller than he did now, broken and cradled in Andy’s arms, unable to smile, laugh and hug the people they’d saved.

They quickly found the settlement’s medical clinic, a run-down house just off the main market. As the medics worked on Patrick, questioning Joe about how he’d been when they found him and what aid he’d administered, Andy shuffled back outside where some injured caravan traders waited for treatment. It was too cramped in there for him, especially after what had happened.

Pete followed him.

“Ugh! I could really go for a warm bed right now, Or a soft pile of rocks.”

Andy said nothing. He looked down at his friend, thinking back to a few hours ago.

He’d followed Pete up the stairs to find that he had a deathclaw gauntlet knuckles-deep in a raider’s chest. Blood was oozing from the throats of two raiders on the floor next to him.

Andy noticed some people cowering in the corner, chained to each other and the wall. They must’ve been from the caravan.

Pete’s current target fell to the floor and he was already walking to the next room. Andy saw a key on the table in the middle of the room and tossed it to the prisoners before chasing after Pete.

When the firefight with the last of the raiders had ended, the remaining guards from outside rushing up to meet their bloody ends, Pete seemed to come to his senses and he ran back downstairs. Andy explained to the frightened prisoners they’d found that they were sent by their settlement’s mayor to rescue them before leading them back downstairs to the others.

The only rooms on the bottom floor they hadn’t cleared were an arsenal and storage room filled with the supplies stolen from the traders. Before they left, Joe instructed everyone who wasn’t helping an injured friend to take all the supplies and weapons they could carry.

Around the side of the building the found the caravan’s five remaining brahmin tied to some posts. They loaded them back up with everything the raiders had taken, Pete quietly helping them.

Pete was normally so talkative when surrounded by this many people, but now he trudged behind them in silence. 

Andy broke out of his reverie, realizing that one of the patients was talking telling Pete where to find an inn. They’d saved the owner’s son, so he’d even probably be grateful enough to let Andy in.

When Joe emerged from the clinic they left to find the inn, Pete commenting on some of the more interesting things they saw on the way. Andy knew he was still shaken and trying to cover it up by talking. The rage-induced massacre had cleared from his head, leaving worry and fear for Patrick’s life.

When they found the inn the owner was indeed grateful enough to let Andy in. They got a room together and tried to sleep. 

The mission had really taken it out of him, but Andy couldn’t stop thinking about Patrick. They’d learned from the people they’d rescued that he’d been a regular here for some time now, protecting caravans with bands of other mercenaries as they travelled between settlements. When the caravan he was guarding attacked a few days ago, two mercs had been killed, but Patrick and the other had only been injured. The raiders had some of the brahmin drag them by their feet back to their den. The other merc hadn’t survived the journey, but when the raiders found that Patrick was still alive they decided to have more fun with him. The traders said his screams had filled the building for hours before the raiders finally got bored.

As the sun rose higher, Andy drifted off into a troubled sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh, surprise! I know Andy's shorter than Joe in real life, but it wouldn't make sense for a super mutant to be THAT tiny. For whatever reason, he's only half mutant. He's still as smart as he was when he was human, he has a beard, he eats vegan as often as he can, but he's still green and kinda tall.


	4. Wasteland Made

Gut wrenching agony wracked his body. He tried not to think how it stopped at his left wrist. Repetitive centuries-old songs drilled themselves into his mind from somewhere in the room. He wished someone would shut off the loud, crackling radio that’d been playing since he was dragged here. The fire flared up in his left leg and he tried to tell it to stop, but his tongue felt like lead in his mouth. Someone was talking, but they were too far away to hear. They sounded kinda familiar. He wanted to tell them to turn off the radio but he couldn’t. He heard more voices and suddenly his attention was dragged back to his arm, which was hurting again. Someone kept moving it, making it worse. The voices got further away until he couldn’t hear them anymore. He couldn’t hear the radio anymore though, so that was nice. It was suddenly really bright in the room and the pain was fading fast. 

Patrick forced his eyes open. He wasn’t in the cold concrete room anymore. The ceiling above him was made of wooden planks and a lone bulb hung from it. He turned his head and saw someone lying on a table next to him. Patrick recognised him as one of the traders from the caravan he’d been protecting with-

Patrick squeezed his eyes shut, remembering what’d happened.

They’d been ambushed. Two of his bandmates had been shot dead. His leg had been super-sledged in the fight, him and another mercenary had been dragged for hours over dusty terrain. He’d passed out a few times, but his armour had protected him from the worst of it. His remaining bandmate hadn’t been so lucky, or maybe she’d been luckier. She died when her many bullet wounds bled out.

“Hey, are you awake?” Patrick opened his eyes. A doctor stood above him. “I have water, you should drink.” She held a canteen to his mouth.

Patrick drank gratefully, only then noticing how parched he was. It’d been days since he’d had any water. 

He tried to sit up, but his left arm screamed at the pressure. He fell back with a gasp.

“Let me help you,” the doctor offered,

She helped him up and Patrick finally got a look at himself. Bandages covered his body and a splint held his leg straight. He realized why his arm hurt so much when he saw that it was also splinted and missing like a whole freaking hand.

“Ugh,” he groaned, “what happened? How'd I get here?”

“Some guards saw the ambush through binoculars,” the doctor explained, “We knew we couldn’t take on those raiders with just our people, but a merc band was in town and offered to help. They said they could do it with just the three of them, so they went out yesterday to rescue whoever was still alive. I guess having a super mutant with them put the odds in their favour, ‘cause they came back early this morning with pretty much everyone still intact.”

“A super mutant?” Patrick questioned. The doctor shrugged. 

“They said it was tame, so the guards let it in, though of course they still kept an eye on it.”

Just then, someone walked in.

“Patrick?” 

He looked up in shock at the dark haired man. 

“Pete?”

Pete raced over and hugged Patrick. 

“I can’t believe you’re still alive,” he said into Patrick’s shoulder.

Patrick returned the hug, ignoring the pain that swept over him.

“Me neither.”

Pete pulled back to get a better look at him.

“What the hell happened to you, man?”

Patrick opened his mouth to reply, but a figure standing in the doorway caught his eye. He recognised the mess of curly hair instantly.

“Joe!” Patrick exclaimed.

“Hey, man. Long time no see,” Joe replied.

“Why are you two here? I haven’t seen you in- ow!” Patrick doubled over, clutching his waist.

“Woah, chill dude, you were a mess when we found you,” Pete reminded him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“You guys?” Patrick said, gasping, “You were the band they sent? But does that mean Andy’s with you?”

“Yeah, he’s outside,” Joe answered, “You know how he is with crowded rooms.”

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” the doctor cut in, “But other patients are trying to sleep.”

Patrick quickly apologised. “We’ll go outside.”

“Woah, I told you to chill,” Pete said angrily, pushing Patrick back.

“There’s a wheelchair here if you want.” The doctor pulled one from the corner of the room. “Just bring it back when you’re done with it. The stuff you were wearing was mostly ruined when you got here, but everything we salvaged is in a box back there.” She indicated to a door at the back of the room. “You can get dressed in there too.”

Joe and Pete helped her lift Patrick from the table and sat him in the chair. 

“We thought you might need new clothes, so we brought some stuff we found in the raiders’ storage. I’ll go get it from Andy.” Joe left and Pete wheeled Patrick to the backroom and found the box. His boots and leather jacket were there, along with the gauntlet.

“Joe used this to splint your arm,” explained Pete, “I guess if you want it you can wear it to make your stump a little less…stumpy.”

Patrick laughed. “Good idea! Much more punk than a boring old hook for a hand!”

Joe returned with clothes. They helped Patrick change into the new gear, leaving the gauntlet aside for now since it wouldn’t be able to fit over the cast on his arm.

When they were done they brought him back out to the doctor, who tied a sling around Patrick’s neck to keep his arm from moving while Joe brought out caps to pay for Patrick’s treatment. Pete thanked her profusely as they wheeled him out into the daylight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These have all been really short chapters so far. I promise it'll get more interesting once the boys are on the road. There'll be more of that violence I promised you and a heck of a lotta character development.

**Author's Note:**

> Be aware that I may go back and edit things as I'm writing this, m'kay?


End file.
